As I was saying, after a long period of creative activity I had crash landed in the burnout zone, and in an attempt to jumpstart my mind and leave the past behind I moved into a concrete bunker nestled high in the clouds, far above the studio. This was the place I would come to for solace, silence, inspiration. Since I had neither the energy nor the desire to decorate, I thought I’d bring in my virtual sidekicks, Vanilla and Camille, and give them the run of the place. It needed a woman’s touch. I called Camille first.

Rock star, tomboy and fiercely independent soul, Camille had certainly mellowed over the past few years. Once the band broke up she seemed to have lost her way, causing a lot of soul-searching. It would have been easy for her to slip back into her comfort zone of pink nihilism and rage against the unseen, but she danced away from all that and, before I knew it, became a woman.

“I’m spent,” I said; “worn out. These empty walls suit me fine, but this is your place too, so feel free to make it more like home. I’m just a recovering artist with a creative block, so pay me no mind.”

“Ya know, Chrome, I’ve been wanting to say something for a while, but you were like a man obsessed.. you lost track of the other world, the one we depend on for our very existence. Glad to hear you’re slowing down. Now we might live to see another day.”

“Guilty as charged,” I said, smiling weakly. She smiled back, then vanished; presumably off on a shopping spree.

An hour or so later she returned, and immediately began rezzing what she referred to as ‘creative blocks’: a giant set of colorful, highly-detailed wooden children’s blocks, exactly like the ones I had played with as a child. In fact, the blocks seemed almost the size of the originals, when I was no bigger than a tadpole. Rather than filling the place with things she wanted, she went looking for something to soothe my soul. Taking my own negative words, she transformed them into something positive, something playful, something to heal the wounded child within. She, of course, being me and me being Chrome made this an act of pure, selfless, self-love.

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together…
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob

to be continued…

Just read an exquisite post by Dusan Writer which captures perfectly the power of imagination and the magic of the metaverse, a tribute to the creator in all of us. It brought to mind a moment which occurred recently while working on a panel for my webcomic. I suddenly realized I was living in a virtual world – a world full of serendipity yet layered with meaning, a universe of the imagination – and that it had become completely ‘natural’ to me. I was no longer in a foreign country; it actually felt like home.

That, I suppose, is one of the greatest things about being an artist…. to be able to spend one’s days marveling at the wonders of creation and then to pass a bit of that magic on to someone else. Nice work if you can get it. Thanks for the reminder, Dusan.

Life is suffering, the great Buddha said.

That doesn’t speak well of the Author of this play, of course, unless there’s a higher purpose behind it all. Our task then, in the midst of our pain, is to somehow suspend our disbelief and attempt to discern His intentions – not an easy thing to do while being buffeted by the blows of The Great Heavyweight Champ Himself. If you have the right spirit, though, you’ll go the distance and come out smiling, even though you’ll never win the fight.

I’ve learned anew some of the basic lessons of suffering myself in recent weeks, including the fundamental but jarring realization that no man is exempt from it. While it is true that it does always happen to the other guy, you must never forget that to everyone else, you are the other guy. This past few weeks it was my turn. Again.

While I prefer not to go into the details of my suffering, I will allow that it is the suffering of a father for the fate of his daughter, and that every day, every hour, every minute has inflicted a new wound, a new and unexpected source of pain; a kind of “death by a thousand cuts.” But for me, surprisingly, it has gradually become more of a “renewal by a thousand band-aids.” Let me explain.

At moments like this, of course, there’s no way to escape the searing fire; nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Not to be overly dramatic, but I’m reminded of the poor soldier in the midst of a long forgotten battle who, having just had his foot shattered by a cannonball, is given a swig of whiskey and a twisted rag of cotton to bite down on as they saw off his leg. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

I don’t mean to imply that I’m the poor fellow on the table, though; more like the one lying over there on a nearby pallet. Unable to escape, unable to avert his eyes, unable to plug his ears, and ultimately, powerless to do anything whatsoever to stop this horrific scene – he grits his teeth and bears it, knowing all the while that, ironically, this incomprehensible pain is somehow necessary for his friend to survive.

Nearly three weeks have gone by since this roller coaster ride through hell began, and there are now signs of light beginning to appear here and there, and they’re clearly not coming from the flames. The false veneer of what once seemed so important in the routine of everyday life has been stripped away, and the real feelings of love and remorse, buried deep within the hearts of those inside the circle of pain, are becoming visible in the bright light of day. Healing has begun

The real, the true, the deep love of family and friends pours forth like water from the rock, and quenches that thirst in all of us that nothing else can ever quite reach. Look around you and consider anew the love of those within your circle. Life may present us with much suffering, but in suffering there can also be found great joy. Remember, The Champ is rooting for you.

Second Life photo by Mick Brady